This is the Way the World Ends
by Tora Marikama
Summary: Becouse the scientist must have known... Warnings: poem story


Disclaimer: 9 belongs to Shane Acker, and the poem, The Hollow Men, is by T. S. Eliot

Author note: Eh, I was bored so I decided to post this now. I thought of this poem the first time I saw the scientist die; just took me awhile to pull this together. I know a lot of people have done these sort of "what happened in the scientist's lab" plots, so I knew mine had to have a unique twist to it. Hope you agree with that statement...and I apoligize for the spaceing but its being a brat and won't let me change it!

Also, this is what inspired the little poem thing that Crazyartist and I did together. Also note that there is a pole in my profile regarding one of my future stories. I would appreciate your opinion.

* * *

_We are the hollow men  
We are the stuffed men  
Leaning together  
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!  
Our dried voices, when  
We whisper together  
Are quiet and meaningless  
As wind in dry grass  
Or rats' feet over broken glass  
In our dry cellar_

The Scientist was silent as he sat in his corner as the small group of rebels argued over plans and strategies.

The group got smaller every day.

The old man hardly ever left his little crumbling lab.

He never had the strength anymore.

But he had to come today.

He needed to know how the war was going.

He needed to hear that things were improving.

He needed that lie to keep himself going.

Because he knew how the world would end.

And it was literally tearing his soul apart.

_  
Shape without form, shade without colour,  
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;_

_  
_The Scientist walked back to his lab at a quick pace, knowing that he was surrounded by reminders of mankind's failure.

Of his failure.

And every corpse that lay upon the gravel was at some level his fault.

How could one man's mistake lead to such destruction?

He could never correct his mistake, he knew.

But there was one thing that he could do to redeem himself in the eyes of the fallen souls that lay at his feet.

And every day, as he drew closer to success, he grew weaker.

_Those who have crossed  
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom  
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost  
Violent souls, but only  
As the hollow men  
The stuffed men._

The old Toymaker did not rest when he returned to the half missing building where his lab was.

He never had the time to rest.

There was never any time.

Because there was always a new life to finish.

The room was too quiet.

There was no 2 fiddling with things in his corner.

Or 5, 3 and 4 to lighten his heavy heart.

6 wasn't there, drawing and muttering away in the way that always intrigued the Scientist.

7 had left on her own in what seemed like so long ago…

…and he could hardly remember 1.

But soon he would have company again, if just for a little while.

_  
Eyes I dare not meet in dream  
In death's dream kingdom  
These do not appear:  
There, the eyes are  
Sunlight on a broken column  
There, is a tree swinging  
And voices are  
In the wind's singing  
More distant and more solemn  
Than a fading star._

Sleep did come, unbidden and without rest.

But he knew he would need the rest that he could not find, for what came next.

And with sleep came dreams of his creations, out in the war on their own,

And the dead screaming their hatred at him as he fell deeper into misery,

And things long forgotten.

__

Let me be no nearer  
In death's dream kingdom  
Let me also wear  
Such deliberate disguises  
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves  
In a field  
Behaving as the wind behaves  
No nearer --

__

Not that final meeting  
In the twilight kingdom

When the scientist woke, he cared for his hunger and thirst, and his curiosity.

He peaked out from behind wooden shutters.

He could see the waist land, sprawled before him.

The towering factory waited in shadows of the background where his Frankenstein slumbered,

Where war could be heard, even at this distance.

He slammed the shutters tight, and faced his other monstrosity.

The one that was slowly killing him, so that he could redeem himself.

_This is the dead land  
This is cactus land  
Here the stone images  
Are raised, here they receive  
The supplication of a dead man's hand  
Under the twinkle of a fading star._

He tied the little doll up, or not so little. He was a thick, hefty thing for such a small doll.

The others would need protection, as he was protected by the rebels.

They needed the 8th to balance the team out.

He placed his mask on and winced, ready for the punch, for the horrendous feeling of his soul being torn.

But it was the only way to save the world.

And he would knock himself unconscious a thousand times over if it helped undo his undoing.

Because he knew how the world would end.

_Is it like this  
In death's other kingdom  
Waking alone  
At the hour when we are  
Trembling with tenderness  
Lips that would kiss  
Form prayers to broken stone._

When he woke upon the cold wood floor, it was to the round face of 8.

He was over filled with such joy to see that his invention had yet to fail him.

But he was too tired to celibrate, too warn down to be cheery for too long,

Because he knew how the world would end.

He pinned the pudgy, squirming 8 to his chest as he stood on shaking legs.

He had no strength to speak to his creation, just enough to get himself to the cot.

The Scientist placed the large doll on the makeshift stand that accompanied his stiff bed.

The doll watched him with a strange understanding as he stood tall and proudly, held himself as a guard.

And the Scientist felt safe with 8 watching over him as he tried to find rest.

Hopefully 8 would bring the same feelings to his lost brethren.

Tomorrow, when his strength was back, he would speak to 8

Tomorrow, he would let him know of his place in the world.

Tomorrow, 8 would leave.

_  
The eyes are not here  
There are no eyes here  
In this valley of dying stars  
In this hollow valley  
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms_

The old Toymaker walked briskly through the streets, his 8 tucked in his lab coat pocket, where he hardly fit.

Bombs could be heard and seen through the cloudy, thick air.

But he was safe here and would be even safer when he reached the meeting place of the rebels,

For the final time.

__

In this last of meeting places  
We grope together  
And avoid speech  
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

The old man placed 8 in the hands of one of the solders.

It was one of the older men, an experienced man.

Someone who would live longer out in the chaos of falling bodies and screams of agony, someone who could insure the doll's survival.

And surly one of the other dolls would be there, trying to help bring the machines down.

And hopefully they would find 8.

_Sightless, unless  
The eyes reappear  
As the perpetual star  
Multifoliate rose  
Of death's twilight kingdom_

This was the last stand,

There last chance,

The last cry for justice,

The last sliver of hope for mankind.

__

The hope only  
Of empty men.

The world was so silent, as if it was holding its breath.

There was no thundering booms of death, no cheers of life.

No day,

No night,

No evening or morn,

Just shimmers of light on the horizon and darkness.

He had failed.  
_  
_

_  
Here we go round the prickly pear  
Prickly pear prickly pear  
Here we go round the prickly pear  
At five o'clock in the morning._

It was in that silence that the 9th was born.

He never meant to make a 9,

Because he knew the 9thwould bring his death.

But it mattered not now, because he no longer had a reason to live.

__

Between the idea  
And the reality  
Between the motion  
And the act  
Falls the Shadow

The man, grayed with age, shut the little message box, and made sure that the tag could be seen, the one with "9" written on it.

In it were his last words spoken and he prayed that they would be enough to guide his little 9.

He tied his last doll up.

The Scientist made sure to nick the rope so that he could pull himself loose.

He wasn't strong like 8, and he had been there for the others.

But 9 wouldn't need him.

Because 9 would have a strength that the others didn't'.

Between the conception  
And the creation  
Between the emotion  
And the response  
Falls the Shadow

9 was hope.

His last and only hope.

he only thing that still kept him alive.

__

Life is very long

_  
_He prayed that his machine wouldn't fail him now.

Not when he would never wake to see if it worked for him,

This final time.

_  
Between the desire  
And the spasm  
Between the potency  
And the existence  
Between the essence  
And the descent  
Falls the Shadow  
_

He faced his death the same as the soldiers did.

Without fear,

Without doubt,

Because he was dying for a cause.

__

For Thine is the Kingdom

_  
_He placed the mask on his face,

And prepared himself for the final bout of unimaginable pain.

_For Thine is---_

He could see the green light from the sides of his mask.

__

Life is---

And the pain came, but he didn't scream,

Didn't even bite his lip.

__

For Thine is the---

He fell away from the mask with a gasp as his final strength left him.

_  
This is the way the world ends_

The scientist grabbed the box as he fell,

Knowing he would never be able to get up again.

_This is the way the world ends_

The last of men was no more.

_This is the way the world ends_

And he knew from the beginning, that this was how the world would really end.

_Not with a bang but a whimper._


End file.
